


Bespoke

by Thursday_Next



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:59:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1710827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday_Next/pseuds/Thursday_Next
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is a jeweller. Arthur is looking for the perfect engagement ring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bespoke

Arthur looks askance at the frontage of the shop and checks the scrap of paper with Morgana’s scribbled directions. He’s followed them to the letter, down the side lane off the high street, into the sheltered arcade he hadn’t even known existed. _Merlin’s_ the sign reads, in cursive script, _metalwork, signs and bespoke jewellery_ in smaller lettering beneath. The door and window frames are painted black, nothing at all like the polished brass and cream carpets of _George Valet_ with its row upon row of glass cases and row upon row of identikit blonde, neatly dressed saleswomen. It looks more like a tattoo parlour than a jewellers. Not that Arthur has ever had reason to set foot in a tattoo parlour, but he imagines this is what it would look like if he did.

He’s half ready to turn on his heel and flee back to the safety of the high street, but he wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t desperate. He’s tried every jewellery shop in Camelot, Mercia, Nemeth and beyond, looked at hundreds of rings, and none of them have been _right_. This is his last resort. 

There’s a dark haired boy in a plaid shirt leaning over the counter reading a magazine. He’s got two piercings in his ear and one in his nose, and a dark smudge on his wrist that looks like it could be the beginnings of a tattoo. _Last resort_ , Arthur reminds himself, wondering why shop owners leave their shops in charge of junior staff when Saturday is surely the day when busy people with 9-5 jobs like himself want some competent service. 

“Hi,” the boy looks up as Arthur enters, shooting him an entirely disarming smile. Arthur sees that he’s not a boy at all, he’s probably no more than a couple of years younger than Arthur himself. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Merlin,” Arthur says.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” There’s a beat of silence when he doesn’t seem inclined to offer any more information about this Merlin’s whereabouts. “So,” the man drawls, “is this a social call, or are you interested in jewellery, or signs, or…”

“I’d really rather speak to Merlin himself, if he’s around. I’m a bit pressed for time, and…”

“You are.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You are speaking to Merlin. Merlin is me.” He makes a goofy sort of ‘ta-da’ gesture with his hands. Arthur feels like a bit of an idiot. Merlin seems to take pity on him, asking, “So what can I do for you today?”

“I’m looking for a ring,” Arthur says.

“Ok,” Merlin says brightly, hands tapping a little absently on the counter top. He has several rings himself, Arthur can’t help but notice, including one on the middle finger of his right hand that coils round like a dragon’s tail up to his knuckle, as well as various brightly coloured bands around his wrist. “I’ve got a couple of catalogues here of already finished pieces for sale, some are out back and I can bring them out and show you if you like the look of any. The dragon range is very popular right now.” He pushes the catalogues towards Arthur. They’re little more than photographs in plastic wallets in a ring binder; but if the presentation isn’t very professional, the pieces themselves certainly are. There’s a whole variety of rings from the delicate and intricate to those that resemble plate armour for fingers. It’s certainly different to the sorts of things he’s seen in the more conventional jewellery shops, but it’s still not quite what Arthur’s looking for.

 _Unique_ , that was the word Morgana had used to describe the bracelet she’d commissioned. Arthur had been dubious when she’d suggested the shop ( _I don’t really think some hippy metalwork is going to be what I’m looking for, Morgana_ , he’d said, and she’d smacked him on the arm), but the word unique had stayed with him, always there in the back of his mind as he’d looked at diamond ring after diamond ring.

“I was looking for something more… unique,” Arthur tells him. Merlin’s face brightens.

“Brilliant. We do bespoke jewellery for all styles and occasions. Do you have a design in mind, or would you like me to design something for you?”

“I don’t have anything in mind,” Arthur admits. And that’s been the problem all this time. He doesn’t know what he wants the ring to look like, only that he’ll know the right one when he sees it. “It just has to be something… special.”

“Special,” Merlin echoes, grinning at him in a way that’s almost flirtatious. “I think that could be arranged. We need an initial consultation, to discuss sizes, designs, prices.”

“Money’s no object,” Arthur assures him, “Not for the right ring.”

“Since you said you were in a hurry,” Merlin says, and Arthur feels a little embarrassed at this reminder of his initial rudeness, “we can have the consultation now if you like.” He sets the ring binders aside. “I’m not busy right now. I work mostly on commissions, there’s not much passing-by trade. I’m surprised you found us.”

Arthur wonders briefly who the ‘us’ refers to, since it’s Merlin’s name above the door and he seems to be the only one here.

“I had a recommendation,” Arthur tells him. “My sister, Morgana.”

“Morgana!” Merlin exclaims, looking delighted, “Bronze cuff bracelet, triskelion design. I’m glad she liked it. So, are you ready now?”

“Sure,” Arthur says. He’s completely unprepared, however, for Merlin reaching over the counter and grabbing his hand, even less prepared for the jolt of electricity he feels at the touch. 

“W-what are you doing?” he means it as a demand but it comes out little more than a croak. 

“Sizing,” Merlin tells him, running one finger along the palm of Arthur’s hand. Arthur shivers. He’s fairly sure that this isn’t how ring sizing is done, and opens his mouth to say so, but Merlin anticipates him. “My jewellery is unconventional, and so are my methods. There’s more to ring fitting than just size l, m, n, o, p. It depends on the length of your fingers, the shape of your hand. The ring has to fit the finger, but also the person. That’s what makes my jewellery special.” He looks up and Arthur finds himself frozen for a second, pinned by his bright gaze.

“It’s – it’s not for me,” he blurts out, breaking the stare. “It’s for my girlfriend. I need an engagement ring.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, dropping his hand. Arthur thinks there’s a note of disappointment in his voice, but when he looks up again, there’s no sign of it, his smile as friendly as before. “Oh well in that case, the process is a little different. Why don’t you tell me a little about her?”

“She’s tall, dark hair, er, beautiful, obviously. She’s a lawyer, very professional, hard working. She likes horse riding?” Arthur looks at Merlin a little helplessly. How is any of this going to help him to design a ring? Merlin’s scribbling down notes though. Arthur can see ‘horse riding’ underlined on the jotter pad. He just hopes he’s not going to end up with a horse’s head ring or something equally bizarre. “Is this really helpful?”

“It might be if you tell me a bit more,” Merlin says. “Come on, you’re about to propose to her. Tell me what you love about her.” 

Arthur shrugs. He’s not good with feelings, talking about feelings even less so.

“She’s very… elegant. But she’s also fun. She makes me feel at ease.” 

Merlin nods at this and smiles, a little wistfully. 

“Ok, that’s good. I’ll take these details and see if I can come up with some initial sketches. I’ll book you in for another consultation where we can look at materials. It would help if you could bring me her ring size and a photograph. Now, I can make you an appointment for any time during the week if you don’t want to wait for next Saturday. Tuesdays and Thursdays I work late, if you need to come in after five.”

“Tuesday would be good,” Arthur says. “How long will it take, altogether?”

“Six weeks is my best estimate. I’ve got a lot of commissions on right now, plus I run workshops at Camelot College, but I’ll squeeze you in as best I can. It depends on materials, too, if you want something I have to order in it may take longer. But don’t worry, we’ll have you all ready to propose by Christmas!”

“Great,” Arthur replies. “Well, see you Tuesday.”

He feels rather less satisfied than he thinks he ought to feel, after all the searching he’s done, and tells himself it’s only because he doesn’t have the ring in his pocket yet.

 

*

“So?” Morgana demands as soon as Arthur steps through her door the following Sunday. “Did you find it?”

“Contrary to your apparent belief, Morgana, I can follow simple directions.”

“Well? Isn’t it just such a great little place? Merlin’s a darling.”

“He remembered you and your armband.”

“Bracelet,” Morgana corrects him. 

“Are you sure there’s not something you want to tell me about the two of you?” Arthur needles, “Was this a genuine recommendation or a way to drum up business for your latest boy toy?”

“Oh please,” Morgana waves a hand, dismissing him, “I think you’re more likely to be his type than I am.” 

Arthur fights a blush, remembering Merlin’s hands touching his, and the way he’d smiled at him when he’d said he’d make him something special. 

“He said it will take up to six weeks,” Arthur says, changing the subject.

“Well,” Morgana says, “that’s good. Plenty of time to – ” she stops abruptly, cutting herself off.

“To what?” Arthur demands, glaring at her. “To change my mind, is that it?”

“Of course not.” A lie, but a smooth one. “To plan the perfect proposal.”

Arthur doesn’t push it. She’s made it clear before, when he first asked for her advice, that she thinks he’s doing this for the wrong reasons. He’d hoped that the recommendation for the jewellery shop meant that she’d come round and was going to support him. He stalks into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of red. 

Morgana follows him.

“So have you sent your acceptance card to Gwen and Leon yet? Or is to be a polite thanks but no thanks?”

“I haven’t, but I will. Soon.”

“Are you searching for the perfect card as well? Better ask Merlin if he makes acceptance cards bespoke as well.”

“Morgana!”

“Well, don’t take too long about it, poor Gwen’s got to plan the seating arrangements, you know.”

“So long as I don’t have to sit next to you, I really don’t mind where they put me,” Arthur says taking another long sip of his wine.

“Apparently Leon’s asked Gwaine to be his best man,” Morgana says, not rising to his latest attempt to distract her.

Arthur knows Morgana is watching him, trying to gauge his reaction. He does his best not to give her anything to work with. She already knows far too much for his liking. They both know that if Leon was marrying anyone else it would have been Arthur who was asked to be best man. 

“You’d better watch yourself, then,” he replies. “He was best man at Percival’s wedding and slept with both the bridesmaids.”

“Oh please, like I’m going to make that mistake again,” Morgana says airily and Arthur nearly chokes on his drink. 

 

There’s no sign of Merlin when Arthur pushes open the door to the shop on Tuesday evening. The rest of the arcade is deserted, bar a small café by the entrance which has a few lingering customers sipping coffee. 

“Hello?” Arthur calls as the shop door swings closed behind him. 

There’s a light on in a back room, and Arthur decides to investigate. 

He spots Merlin hunched over a workbench, a look of concentration on his face as works on a sign of some kind. The plaid shirt is gone and he’s wearing a short sleeved black t-shirt. Arthur can see that the smudge of ink he’d spotted at their first meeting is indeed a tattoo, a dragon’s head resting on the curve of his well-defined bicep, its tail winding down to his wrist. Arthur stares in fascination as Merlin works. He’s rarely ever had the opportunity to observe someone working with their hands; his concept of work involves numbers and figures, meetings and spreadsheets. Merlin is clearly skilled – and strong. Arthur had never imagined jewellery making would require muscles but there’s obvious power in Merlin’s arms as he chisels away at the lettering.

Merlin looks up and notices him there.

“Sorry! I didn’t know anyone had come in. You should have rung the bell.” He smiles and sweeps one hand through his messy black hair.

“I did. But I don’t think you heard. I saw your light was on so I came back here to check.”

“I go into my own world when I’m working. Lost track of time.” Merlin sweeps the filings away from the surface of the sign and sets it down on the workbench.

“You do all the lettering by hand?” he asks, and Merlin nods.

“A machine would be more precise, but this way each one is more individual. Unique, like your ring. Have you brought the photo?”

“Oh,” Arthur says, having forgotten all about the photo. “Yes, I have it here somewhere.”

“Come through to the other room and sit down,” Merlin says, and Arthur follows him into the small, cluttered office.

Seated, Arthur roots around in his briefcase for the picture of Mithian.

“I had it printed off on the way over.”

“You don’t carry one in your wallet?” Merlin asks. His tone is light and teasing but Arthur frowns. He remembers he used to have one of Gwen, distinctly recalls setting fire to it with Morgana’s lighter in the beer garden of the Rising Sun when she discovered he was still carrying it around after the break-up. He’s never even thought to ask for one of Mithian, though. 

“We’re just not that sort of couple,” he tells Merlin, with a shrug, passing the photo across the desk.

“Relax, I’m not judging,” Merlin says. “She’s very pretty,” he says. “Congratulations.”

“Don’t speak too soon, she hasn’t said yes yet,” Arthur says.

“She will,” Merlin says confidently. “How could she possibly refuse?” Arthur looks up and finds his gaze held for a second. “Once she’s seen the amazing ring, I mean,” Merlin finishes with a smirk. 

“Of course,” Arthur says, sitting back in his chair, rolling his eyes at Merlin. 

Merlin seems a little flustered as he rummages through the haphazard assortment of papers piled up on his desk. 

“Here,” Merlin says, passing him a few sheets of paper with photographs of rings on. “Just for an idea of shape, thickness, tell me if there’s anything that grabs you.”

Arthur stares a little helplessly at the images in front of him, finding himself overcome with the same sense of panic that had overtaken him in the various jewellers’ shops he had visited before coming into Merlin’s.

“Nothing too thick, I think, nothing with skulls or animals or spikes on. Something… I don’t know. I just know I’ll know when I see it.”

“A bit like love, hmm?” Merlin suggests kindly. Arthur is taken aback. He hadn’t thought of it quite like that. “Why don’t you tell me a bit more about…” Merlin pauses, looks down at his notes, “Mithian? How did you meet, for example?”

Arthur finds the idea of talking about his relationship to a relative stranger unexpectedly embarrassing, and wonders how he’ll ever manage the groom’s speech at the wedding. He feels his collar constrict at the very thought of it.

“We got set up by some friends,” he tells Merlin. “Not very romantic, I know.”

“Probably a more stable basis for a relationship than picking up guys at a club,” Merlin says a little ruefully, and Arthur feels a sudden urge to ask Merlin about his love life, but thinks it wouldn’t be appropriate. This is an appointment, after all, not just a cosy chat. He can hear Morgana’s voice in his head saying that Arthur would probably be more Merlin’s type than she would, and finds himself wondering exactly what Merlin’s type really would be. Does he go for blondes or brunettes? Skinny guys or muscle men? “At least you know your friends approve.”

Arthur thinks of the argument he had with Morgana when he announced his intention to start shopping for rings, her insistence that he was rushing into it because of Gwen’s impending marriage to Leon. 

“Yes,” he says, although he’s not sure he’s exactly telling the truth. “Anyway, no such thing as love as first sight, is there?”

“No,” Merlin says with a cough. “’Course not.” He busies himself shuffling some papers on his lap. 

 

*

Arthur doesn’t really expect to see Merlin from the jewellery shop again. And if he occasionally thinks of Merlin’s deft fingers and the way they worked the metal, it’s only in appreciation of his skill and anticipation of the ring he’s going to make.

It’s been a shitty day at work, and Arthur’s sorely in need of a drink, even if it is only Thursday. He knows he’s not going to see much of Mithian all weekend, what with the case she’s got coming up. He texts Leon and Percival, to see if they fancy a beer, then heads straight to the Rising Sun. 

His phone beeps as he crosses the high street: Percival can’t make it. It beeps again just as he finishes reading Percival’s message. Leon can’t make it either. He’s still looking at the screen rather than where he’s going when there’s a sudden thump and then a startled sound. He grabs hold of the shoulders of the person he’s bumped into to right them, fumbling apologies.

“Sorry, I…” 

“Hey, look where you’re… Arthur?” 

He looks up to see Merlin. He’s surprised, momentarily, that Merlin has remembered his name, but then he recalls that he’d remembered Morgana. He’s obviously someone with a good memory for details.

“Merlin? Sorry, I should have been looking where I was going.”

“It’s alright. In a hurry?” His lips quirk in that teasing expression that’s not quite a smile.

“Only to the pub.” He gestures at his phone. “Stood up by my friends. Under the thumb, both of them.” There’s a slight pause. Arthur means to say something polite, apologise again, but instead, impulsively, he asks, “I don’t suppose you’d like to go for a beer? Keep me company?”

“Oh!” Merlin looks taken aback, a little reluctant. “I don’t…” He bites his lip. Arthur feels stupid. Of course he doesn’t want to. He’s Merlin’s client, not his friend.

“Never mind,” he says, a little brusquely, “Sorry.” Arthur doesn’t recall ever having apologised to anyone as much as seemed to find himself apologising to Merlin in the short time of their acquaintance.

“No, I’d…” Merlin smiles again, shyly this time, “I’d love to.”

Arthur leads him to the Rising Sun.

“I’ve never been in here before,” Merlin says, looking around dubiously. 

“Really? It’s where my friends and I always come,” Arthur says, resting one hand on the bar.

“Not really my scene,” Merlin shrugs. “Too many suits.”

“What’s wrong with suits?” Arthur bristles, affronted. “I like suits.”

“You probably go clubbing in a suit, don’t you?” Merlin laughs. “No, wait, what am I saying, you probably don’t go clubbing at all.”

“Oi! I still go clubbing, thank you very much,” Arthur protests, even as he racks his brains trying to think of the last time he actually set foot in a club. A couple of times, after he and Gwen split, ill-advised one night stands and too many drinks with ridiculous names. “You shouldn’t judge someone because of how they’re dressed, you know.”

Merlin opens his mouth to respond, eyes laughing, but the barman interjects. Arthur orders a beer for himself and pays for Merlin’s cider, ignoring his protests.

“Don’t be daft, I’m the one who dragged you in here with all the scary suits, least I can do,” Arthur waves away his objections. The pub is bustling but not too busy, so they manage to secure a small table by the window.

“So who are these mates who stood you up then?” Merlin asks, shrugging off his coat as he takes his seat. Arthur finds his eyes drawn once again to the dragon that coils around his arm.

“Leon and Percival. We go back a long way, played footie together at uni. But Percival’s settled down with a kid now, and Leon’s getting married in the spring.” Arthur shrugs. “I guess we don’t make time for each other as much as we used to.” He takes a sip of his drink. It’s not the whole truth, but he doesn’t feel the need to burden Merlin with the whole soap opera right out of the starting gates. It’s kind of nice to mention Leon’s wedding to someone who doesn’t look at him with that mixture of pity and concern, as if he’s going to start weeping into the wedding cake.

“Funny thing is, I got stood up tonight as well. I was waiting for a client but he never showed.”

“Must be destiny that we ended up drinking together then,” Arthur says, grinning. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Merlin says, holding his eyes for a second before blinking and looking away. 

“So,” Arthur says, “tell me about your tattoo.”

Merlin smiles and launches into a long story involving his lifelong fascination with dragons, a failed bracelet design and a friend called Freya who is, apparently, tiny but evil, and who held him down throughout the process.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Arthur asks, although he knows it’s a stupid question even before Merlin bites his lip and fiddles nervously with the multi-coloured band on his wrist.

“She was, actually,” he says, “for about a week. When we were fifteen. Before we figured out that neither of us is particularly interested in the opposite sex.” Merlin coughs. “So, what about your girlfriend? She stood you up as well?”

“Working,” Arthur says. “She’s got a case coming up so she’s swamped.”

“Have you been together long?”

“No we’ve only been seeing each other a few months,” Arthur admits, leaning back in the leather armchair, beginning to feel more relaxed. “Morgana says… well. She thinks it’s too fast. I don’t know. Do you think you can know someone is perfect for you even when you haven’t known them long?”

“Yes,” Merlin says, without hesitation, then looks away with a small frown on his face.

 

Arthur’s feeling pleasantly buzzed by the time he gets home. They’d stayed a long time talking about everything and nothing, almost like old friends. Easy, uncomplicated. And yet there’s a buzz of excitement beneath his skin. He glares at the washing-up still sitting in the sink from the morning and sinks into the sofa.

It’s quiet in the flat and he wonders, for the first time, whether he’s going about things backwards after all. Are they rushing into this? Should they try living together first before he proposes?

But that would mean that Morgana was right, and that’s not possible, naturally.

 

*

Mithian’s case is done and won by the end of the week, and she suggests going out to celebrate. Arthur doesn’t hesitate to agree and goes to dress up a little, white shirt, untucked, top button undone, fitted black trousers. He remembers Merlin telling him he probably goes clubbing in a suit and frowns at himself in the mirror. He grabs the wax and runs one hand through his hair, trying to achieve an artfully tousled look. 

“Come on, Arthur, we’ll be late,” Mithian calls. “Morgana’s meeting us there, and Elena and her new girlfriend. Did you text Percival and Leon?”

“Uh, yeah. Leon and Gwen can’t make it.” Arthur tries to tell himself he’s not relieved. He wonders how Mithian feels about it all. Is she secretly relieved too? He’s never really discussed with her how she feels about Gwen, about Arthur trying to still be friends with her and Leon. They’ve always seemed to get on just fine. 

 

They start off in the Rising Sun, as usual, then make their way over to The Gedref Arms. It’s a pub with a more relaxed atmosphere, an eclectic jukebox and cheap drinks; probably the sort of place Merlin comes to drink, Arthur thinks, looking at a couple of girls at the bar with tattoos on their very bare shoulders. 

In fact, he amends as he catches sight of a familiar face, it’s _exactly_ the sort of place Merlin comes to drink. Merlin’s leaning against the bar, laughing as he chats to a friend. He’s dressed in a tight jeans, a black vest and a red scarf. Arthur finds his eyes drawn to Merlin’s arms again. He blames the unusual tattoo.

Without stopping to think about, Arthur’s striding over and clapping him on the shoulder.

“Merlin, hi!”

Merlin startles a little at the contact, his eyes going wide as he sees Arthur. 

“Who’s this then?” his companion says, giving Arthur a none-too-subtle once-over. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Um, yeah, Arthur, this is my mate Will. Will, this is Arthur. We met at the shop.”

“Hello,” Arthur says. He feels inexplicably relieved that Merlin didn’t introduce Will as a boyfriend. “Hey, Merlin, why don’t you come over and sit with us,” he gestures at his group of friends. 

“I don’t know if…”

“Morgana’s here, she’d love to see you,” he continues, insistent. 

“Sure, I’ll come and say hi,” Merlin says, after a moment’s hesitation.

He does seem genuinely pleased to see Morgana and she him. Arthur wonders if Merlin gets close to all his clients, and doesn’t know what to name the odd squeezing feeling in his chest. 

“So, Merlin, how do you and Arthur know each other?” Mithian asks. Arthur freezes, and gives Merlin a panicked glance. He hadn’t anticipated that question.

“Poetry reading,” Merlin says smoothly, if implausibly. “At the library.”

Mithian arches an eyebrow. Surely she knows Arthur hasn’t set foot in the library in years, hasn’t even read a poem since he studied Wilfred Owen for GCSE. 

“Well,” she says, kissing Arthur on the cheek as he sits down beside her, “it seems you have hidden depths, Arthur.”

All Arthur can wonder is just how little they know each other. Surely discovering one another’s hidden depths should come before buying rings, says a voice in his head that sounds annoyingly like Morgana. He meets Merlin’s eyes, trying to say a wordless ‘thanks’, but Merlin swallows a little nervously and looks away. Arthur feels distinctly awkward, the pleasant buzz from earlier in the evening dissipating. 

Morgana engages Merlin in conversation, though, and he doesn’t leave. The clock creeps round to eleven and people start to make noises about moving on. 

“Did you have plans?” Morgana asks Merlin and Will.

“We were going to head over to Labyrinth,” Merlin admits. Will claps him on the shoulder. 

“Merlin’s been working too hard. I convinced him he needs to go out and get laid.”

“Shut up, you,” Merlin wiggles out of his embrace, embarrassed. 

“We said we might meet some people there, too,” Elena says, still draped around the new girlfriend whose name Arthur has been told and yet instantly forgotten. 

“Well, that settles it,” Morgana says. “Let’s all go.”

Percival and his wife beg off, needing to get back for their babysitter, but Arthur finds himself heading to Labyrinth with the rest. 

As soon as they’re in, Morgana heads for the bar while Merlin drags Will out on to the dance floor, dancing somewhat clumsily to Katy Perry. Arthur shakes his head fondly, already having flashbacks to his student days. He hasn’t been to Labyrinth for ages but it’s hardly changed a bit. Friday night is gay night and it feels a bit strange to be sitting here with his girlfriend. 

Arthur excuses himself to head for the bathroom. On the way out he finds himself cornered by a young dark-haired man with a shark-like smile. 

“You look like you could do with something to help you relax,” the man says.

“No thanks,” Arthur says, not sure whether he’s offering sex or drugs or both. The man continues to stare. “I’m not interested.”

He goes to move on, but the guy’s arm shoots out, blocking his path. Arthur glares, annoyed. He goes to speak when there’s a voice from behind him.

“Fuck off, Mordred, he said he’s not interested.”

The guy, Mordred, shrugs and slinks away. Arthur turns to see Merlin.

“Some guys just can’t take straight for an answer,” Merlin says.

“I had it under control, really,” Arthur says. The idea that he couldn’t have handled some chancer is laughable. The idea of Merlin as his knight in shining armour should be laughable, but somehow it’s… Arthur fights the word ‘sexy’, blaming the several pints he’s consumed already. “And besides, I’m not.”

“Not what?” Merlin blinks at him, eyes dark under the bright lights.

“Straight.”

“Oh,” Merlin says. “Oh.” His voice is oddly flat. Arthur hopes he isn’t one of those biphobic types. He’s run across a few of them before. 

“I mean,” Arthur continues, “I’m with Mith now, but I’ve been out with men before. I’m attracted to men.” His skin prickles with the sudden awareness that they are standing very close together, pressed against the wall as other clubbers pass them on the way in and out of the loos. He feels himself sweat as he finds himself wondering what Merlin’s skin _tastes_ like. 

Merlin licks his lips nervously and Arthur can’t help tracking the movement before squeezing his eyes tight shut. 

“I’d better get back to Mith,” he says.

“Yeah,” Merlin says, his voice hoarse. “Yeah.”

 

Arthur spends the rest of the evening picking at the label of his bottled beer, frowning to himself. Mithian asks him a couple of times what the matter is but he tells her it’s just a stomach ache and she doesn’t question it when he gets a cab home early. Alone. Morgana’s the only one who looks suspiciously at him when he leaves. He doesn’t look to see if Merlin has hooked up with anyone. 

 

*

 

Merlin grins at him, wolf-like as he pushes Arthur onto his back and pulls his legs apart. Arthur pants, dazed and delighted as Merlin trails one hand down his sweat-slick chest. He arches up for a kiss but Merlin pulls away, elusive. Arthur can feel his balls tighten with need and he comes the instant Merlin thrusts into him. 

And wakes up, heart racing.

Arthur groans and pulls his pillow over his face. He hasn’t had a dream like that in a long time. He forces himself to get up, stripping his sheets and bundling them into the machine, suddenly very glad that Mithian didn’t come home with him last night. Although maybe, if she had, it wouldn’t have happened. Maybe her presence would have anchored him into his own reality, instead of leaving him to lose himself in dreams.

Merlin’s blue eyes plague him throughout his morning shower, not the way he’d looked in his dream, but the way he’d looked last night in the club, striding to Arthur’s rescue.

By the time he’s dressed and in possession of an unhealthily large stack of hot buttered toast, Arthur thinks he’s got it figured out. It’s not to do with Merlin, not really. It’s just the idea of marrying Mithian, of committing himself to one person, one woman, for life. He’s never going to sleep with another man again, and this is his subconscious’ way of dealing with that, and his understandable nerves about it. That’s all. 

Arthur’s pretty pleased with himself for this insight, and his good mood lingers on. He’s especially attentive to Mithian when they meet up the next day, and even starts thinking of proposal scenarios. If he does think of Merlin, if he gets flashes back to that dream, of Merlin’s fingers on him and inside him, if he finds himself wondering about the length of his cock, about the taste of it, he dismisses the thoughts as idle fantasies based on his nerves about commitment. He even feels like the vague cloud of guilt he hadn’t even realised he’d been living under has lifted. He won’t see Merlin again after the ring is finished, and once the ring is on Mithian’s finger, the thoughts and the dreams will stop, won’t they?

 

This feeling of having understood and conquered himself persists throughout the week, so that when Morgana calls and invites him to lunch on Saturday, he doesn’t even try to come up with an excuse. Mithian’s away visiting family so he goes alone, expecting it just to be him and his sister.

He turns up, bearing a bottle of wine, only to stutter to a stop in the kitchen doorway when he catches sight of Merlin, chatting to Gwen. Two compartments of his life that should never have collided. Morgana could at least have warned him, Arthur thinks darkly, even as he pastes on a blank smile.

The problem with Gwen is not that their break-up was particularly bitter. There were tears and arguments enough, of course, but that’s only to be expected. It’s not that she’s found somebody else to love, or even that that somebody else is one of his oldest friends. The problem with Gwen is just how well she knows him. It’s a difficult thing to handle, being so utterly known. To be known, and to have been found wanting. It makes him feel curiously exposed whenever they’re in the same room together, as though he’s wearing a layer of clothing less than everyone around him. 

And now she’s sitting with Merlin, chatting like they’re old friends and Arthur is suddenly, selfishly jealous. Merlin was one part of his life untouched by the knowledge of just how badly he’d fucked up with Gwen. 

“Arthur, hi!” Gwen smiles as she notices him. The fact that she’s so nice to him is another thing that Arthur finds difficult, but it’s not something he’s ever been adequately able to explain to anyone.  
Merlin’s expression when he looks up is guarded, and Arthur feels suddenly on edge, recalling their last conversation in the club. Images from his dream flood back to him, and a creeping heat steals over his cheeks. But Merlin nods at him, the hint of a smile.

“Hello Gwen. Merlin.”

“We were just talking about Game of Thrones,” Gwen says, with a mischievous smile.

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re a fan too,” Arthur groans, as he pulls up a chair. 

“What can I say,” Merlin shrugs. “You know I have a thing for dragons.”

“Mmm,” Arthur says. There are no fewer than three dragons that he can see, the ring, the tattoo and one printed on a leather key ring hanging from Merlin’s belt. He finds himself wondering if there are any more, hidden somewhere under his clothes, perhaps. 

“The end of the fourth book,” Merlin whistles appreciatively, “When Tyrion…”

“La la la, don’t tell me, don’t tell me,” Gwen says, covering her ears as she gets to her feet. “I’m going to get a drink before I hear any spoilers.”

“So that’s your ex?” Merlin says, when Gwen is out of earshot. “She’s nice. Much nicer than you, I can see why that didn’t work out.”

Arthur snorts involuntarily, laughter startled out of him by Merlin’s directness. 

“Charming,” he says. 

“So I’ve been told,” Merlin says with a devastating grin.

Arthur feels the certainty of the past week unravel as he recognises with a sudden acuity that Merlin is a person, not a fantasy he can easily compartmentalise and discard when it suits him. 

They find themselves sat together through the meal. Arthur suspects a plot on Morgana’s part to keep him and Gwen apart. But he thinks Merlin would have occupied all of his attention anyway, with his stories about his best friends, Will and Freya and some of their more hair-raising exploits, before needling Arthur about his love of French New Wave films.

“Oh come on,” Merlin teases, “A Bout de Souffle was boring! Give me something modern and colourful over chic existential angst any day.”

“You prefer Amelie, I suppose?”

“Easily. Although Delicatessan is even better. Romance and cannibalism, what's not to love?”

Arthur shakes his head, smiling. More and more he feels like he and Merlin could be not just friends but best friends, if that isn’t a hopelessly childish way of looking at things. Arthur feels like being known by Merlin wouldn’t be such a terrible thing at all. And yet it frightens him, too, in a way, this more than physical attraction, the way he feels himself gravitating towards Merlin as if there’s a thread reeling him in each time. 

 

*

Friday night and Arthur is in the Gedref Arms with Gwaine and Elyan, the unofficial Leon’s stag do planning committee. It’s not as awkward as he’d imagined it might be, and Arthur’s glad he insisted on coming, to show them all (especially Morgana) that he’s fine about the wedding. The more unusual thing is that he _is_ fine. That what he’s been telling everybody for months now is at last true. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that he will be engaged too before the month is out. 

Arthur glances around, wondering idly if Merlin will show up. He doesn’t know whether this is a regular haunt of his or an occasional stop off. 

“…Arthur?”

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“You’re in your own world, mate,” Gwaine grins, shaking his head. “I was just saying about the outfits.”

“I’m not wearing a dress,” Arthur says automatically. He remembers Percy’s stag do all too well.

“You’re not,” Elyan says. “Leon on the other hand…”

“What do you think, us as knights in shining armour and Leon as the damsel in distress,” Gwaine says, “Or Jedi knights and Leon in a gold bikini?”

“Give him a break, it’ll be December.”

“True, can’t have him freezing his wedding tackle off before his wedding night,” Gwaine says with a wink.

“Please,” Elyan says, “this is my sister getting married. I don’t want to have to think about the wedding night.”

Arthur scans the bar again.

“Expecting someone?” Gwaine says with a knowing look. 

“No,” Arthur says, too quickly. “Just a… sort of friend of mine, I thought he might be here.”

“This is the friend you met _poetry reading_?” Gwaine says, making it sound like completely filthy. Gwaine could make anything sound filthy. Elyan arches an eyebrow. 

“Poetry reading?” He shakes his head. “Is that some kind of a euphemism? I thought you were seeing that Mithian.”

“I am,” Arthur says. “Merlin’s just a friend. In fact…” Arthur stops, suddenly not sure he wants to share his proposal plans. Not just yet. 

And then he sees him. There is Merlin, chatting to some man Arthur doesn’t recognise, standing very close together. The bloke’s hands stray down to give Merlin’s arse a squeeze and Arthur’s stomach twists. Merlin pushes the guy away good-naturedly with a laugh. They’re too far away to hear and Arthur can’t lip-read, but he’s sure Merlin’s saying “later”, as he walks off in the direction of the loos.

Arthur looks away. It’s none of his business if Merlin has found someone to shag. Like he said to Elyan, Merlin’s just a friend. Barely even that, they’ve only known each other a few short weeks. And okay, he’s an attractive man, but that doesn’t matter, doesn’t mean… it’s normal to find people attractive, right?

“I’m just going for a piss,” Arthur says. He doesn’t dare look to see if Gwaine and Elyan are looking at him suspiciously.

He feels suspicious. Guilty. The lie about the poetry reading has the whiff of infidelity about it. Which is ridiculous. He doesn’t intend, he wouldn’t, ever. He thinks of his father and his affairs, how much he’d despised him for being unfaithful to his mother. 

All he wants is to see him, to get this all straight in his head, no pun intended. 

“Arthur!” Merlin wobbles as Arthur intercepts him at the corner of the bar. Arthur realises Merlin is probably not entirely sober. He himself has been nursing the same beer for hours and sobriety clings to him like a headache. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh I’m just here with Gwaine and Elyan, Gwen’s brother. Planning Leon’s stag do.”

“Stag do, great fun. Will there be strippers?”

“With Gwaine involved? Almost certainly. You look like you’re having fun.”

It comes out sullen and jealous in a way it hadn’t sounded in his head. Merlin’s expression closes down.

“Please, Arthur, don’t.” He moves to go.

“Wait, wait.” 

Arthur reaches out and takes hold of his elbow, steering him away to somewhere quieter. He thinks he can feel the hairs on Merlin’s arm standing up. He can’t quite bring himself to move his hand away, thumb stroking small circles on the pale flesh of the underside of Merlin’s arm. 

“Arthur,” Merlin’s voice is low and dangerous. “What are you doing?”

“That guy,” Arthur nods to where Merlin had been dancing moments before. “Are you going to sleep with him?”

“How is that any of your business?” Merlin demands, eyebrows drawing fiercely together. 

“I don’t know,” Arthur says. He feels lost. Merlin pulls his arm away. “Merlin, I just…”

“Why are you doing this, Arthur?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Arthur says, but it feels like a lie. 

“Arthur,” Merlin speaks slowly, as if trying to keep from slurring. “I want you to imagine something for me. I want you to imagine that you meet someone, someone who you know is perfect for you. But they’re spoken for. You do everything you can to stop yourself falling for that person but they keep pushing, wanting to be your friend, and…” He pauses, swallowing. “And the worst part is that you know they like you too, but you know that’s not enough.” He stops again, frowns, as if he’s confused himself, then shakes his head. “Do you think,” he continues, licking his lips, sounding hoarse, “do you think, that if you were single, that I’d even so much as look at anyone else in here?” 

“Merlin – ” 

“If -- if you were single, Arthur, I’d have you pressed up against the bathroom wall with your cock down my throat so fast you wouldn’t know what hit you.” He leans in, swaying slightly, his mouth inches from Arthur’s. Arthur’s suddenly so aroused he can barely breathe. “But you’re not.” Merlin pulls back and Arthur feels bereft. “And I can’t… I just can’t. Arthur, go home to your girlfriend. I’ll give you a call when your ring’s ready.”

 

*

 

Merlin doesn’t call and Arthur doesn’t call him. He doesn’t see or speak to anyone all weekend, burying himself under a mountain of work and junk food and denial. 

Arthur gets a text on Monday telling him his ring is ready for collection. It’s two weeks earlier than he’d expected.

If Morgana hadn’t been there, he probably wouldn’t have mentioned it to her. 

“That’s good,” Morgana says. Her tone is unreadable.

“I thought there’d be more time,” Arthur says, and then wishes he hadn’t.

“More time for what?” Morgana asks, but he doesn’t answer and she doesn’t press him. 

 

She shows up just as he’s leaving work the next day. He doesn’t try to dissuade her from accompanying him. Even as his heart sinks slightly at losing the opportunity of spending time alone with Merlin, he has the feeling he might need the moral support. He can feel his throat tightening in a sort of panic as they step into the shop. Merlin smiles at Morgana but won’t meet Arthur’s eyes. He slides a small black velvet box across the countertop. Arthur opens it. 

The ring is perfect. Of course it is. Slim and elegant and decidedly unique. 

“It’s beautiful,” Morgana says. 

“Perfect,” Arthur agrees.

“Well,” Merlin says, his voice wavering only a little, “you said you’d know the perfect ring when you saw it.”

“Like falling in love,” Arthur says, and Merlin meets his eyes for the first time.

“Yes,” he says, helplessly, too sincerely and Arthur’s heart stutters in his chest. They must be staring at each other for a while, because Morgana interrupts with a cough. 

“Merlin, I’m having a wrapping party on Friday night, it’s traditional. We wrap presents for Santa and drink wine. All for a good cause, of course. Would you like to come?”

“I’m sorry, Morgana,” Merlin says regretfully, “but I’m going to Labyrinth with Will. It’s his birthday. Do you – do you think I could have a word with Arthur for a minute?”

“Of course,” she says smoothly, as though there’s nothing at all strange about that. “I’ll be outside.”

The shop bell rings as she leaves, unusually loud in the silence.

“I don’t think we can be friends,” Merlin says frankly, without looking up. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t come here or call me.”

“Merlin, please,”

“No. I… I can’t, okay?”

“Okay,” Arthur says, but he feels far from okay. “Thank you. For the ring. And for... just, thanks.”

“Take care,” Merlin says, voice thick with unspoken emotion.

Arthur nods, not trusting himself to speak as he leaves.

 

The ring feels heavy as a stone in his pocket as they walk back through town. He thinks through all his imagined proposal scenarios, and every single one of them seems ludicrous. It’s not about the proposal, and it’s not about the perfect ring. He was wrong, none of that matters at all. What matters is knowing. Knowing the person you plan to marry, wanting to be with them always, knowing they are the one made for you. 

“I don’t think I can marry Mithian,” Arthur says suddenly, stopping dead in the street. Morgana mutters something under her breath that sounds like _finally_.

“Arthur, you know whatever you decide, I will support you.”

“Liar, you’ve been waiting for me to say that for weeks.”

She smiles and elbows him.

“Mithian’s a great person, Arthur, but I don’t think you were ever doing this for the right reasons.”

“Morgana, I’m going to say something to you now that I’ve never said before, and probably never will again.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “You were right.”

 

Breaking up is never easy. Mithian doesn’t understand, not really, and Arthur doesn’t understand well enough himself to explain it. They should teach emotional literacy in schools, he decides. It’s far too important a thing to leave to whoever you might happen to have as parents. Especially if they are strict, distant, philandering widowers. 

“Let me get this straight. You’re dumping me because you don’t want to marry me?” Mithian is scathing. “Have I ever even said I wanted to get married?”

Arthur doesn’t mention the ring. He can’t think of any way to explain that doesn’t make him sound like an arsehole. He thinks maybe he has been a bit of an arsehole, but not on purpose, not really. An idiot, then, he’s willing to own up to that. It isn’t as if all his friends (especially Morgana) haven’t been telling him all along he was rushing into things with Mithian for the wrong reasons. He’s been wilfully blind about that, as well as about his growing feelings for Merlin. 

She doesn’t cry, though. There isn’t the palpable sense of loss there had been when he and Gwen had split. He knows she’ll be alright. That she’ll meet someone who’s right for her, like she deserves to. 

The only thing she even has to take with her from his place is a toothbrush. She says he can keep it. 

Well, actually she tells him he knows where he can shove it. 

 

Arthur arrives at Morgana’s promptly for the wrapping party, bearing a bottle of Pinot. He’s long since lost count of the number of occasions Morgana has managed to find for having people come round with wine. At least this one is for a good cause. 

“Arthur,” Morgana says bluntly while he fishes the corkscrew out from her kitchen drawer, “I don’t mean to be rude but what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Helping you wrap presents?” Arthur suggests.

“No offence, but you’re crap at wrapping, Arthur, I only invited you because you always bring a decent bottle, none of this Tesco value plonk I get from Gwaine.”

“You invited me because you can’t resist the urge to check up on me,” Arthur says rolling his eyes as he pours himself a glass. “I’m fine. I broke up with Mithian, and I’m fine. I’m going to be single, and not rush into anything or get into anything with anyone for the wrong reasons. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Oh Arthur, all I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”

Arthur doesn’t answer. He’s doing the right thing. The sensible thing. He takes a drink of his wine. 

“Arthur,” Morgana says, carefully, “what about Merlin?”

“I don’t know what you…”

“Don’t play dumb. I was there, you know, when he gave you the ring.”

“Look, it didn’t work out with Mithian because I just jumped into it on the rebound, I’m not going to do the same thing with Merlin. Even supposing there was anything…”

“So it’s fine with you if he pulls someone at Labyrinth tonight and goes home with them.” 

Arthur screws his eyes shut, thinking of Merlin at the pub last weekend, some other man’s hands on him. It’s not fine. It’s not fine at all.

“Morgana…”

“I’ll call you a cab,” she says smoothly. 

 

*

 

Friday is Merlin’s early closing day at the shop, so there’s no point in going there. Arthur clings to the little snippet of information he’d gleaned the last time he’d seen him. Will’s birthday. Labyrinth. Or course there are no guarantees that he will be there. They might have changed their plans. Merlin might have met someone early in the night and gone off with them. 

Arthur decides to head straight there and wait. Labyrinth opens its doors at ten but really, nobody gets there that early unless they’re desperate. He buys a bottle of beer and sits nursing it at a corner table for an hour, picking restlessly at the label. 

“Sign of sexual frustration, that,” says a voice. Arthur looks up to see a dark haired man. Attractive, but not Merlin. “I could give you a hand with that if you like.”

“No thanks,” Arthur says. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“Pity,” says the man with a shrug. “Hope you find him, then.” 

 

It’s Will he spots first, wearing a ridiculous hat shaped like a cake and a large flashing badge that says “kiss me it’s my birthday” with an arrow drawn on in black marker pen pointing down. Arthur rolls his eyes. Merlin’s there too, part of a small crowd, dressed in a tight black capped-sleeve t-shirt which accentuates his arms and shows off his dragon tattoo. He smiles when Will turns to him but otherwise doesn’t look like he’s much in the mood for partying. 

Merlin scans the room and his eyes meet Arthur’s. Arthur holds his breath as Merlin’s eyes go wide and startled, before his expression shuts down and he looks away with a scowl. Arthur’s disappointed, but not deterred. He hadn’t quite expected their eyes to meet across a crowded room and then for them to instantly fall into each other’s arms (although he may have hoped).

Rising from his seat Arthur pushes his way through the gathering crowds to reach him. Merlin’s got his back to him by now and he hesitates just slightly before reaching out to tap him on the shoulder. 

“Merlin.”

He turns, and frowns at Arthur.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, accusingly. 

“I had to talk to you.”

“No.”

“What?” Arthur hopes he’s misheard, blames the volume of the music and crosses his fingers for a more favourable response. Merlin leans in and the heat of his breath against Arthur’s cheek makes him shudder. 

“I said no, Arthur. I don’t think I’ve got anything else to say to you.”

And then he’s gone, moving away out of reach, leaving Arthur bereft. 

Arthur stares after him for a moment, as around him people jostle on their way to the bar. 

Then a voice in his head (which sounds suspiciously like his sister’s) asks him if he’s just going to accept this, admit defeat, or whether he’s going to fight for what he wants. If he thought Merlin really wasn’t interested it would be different, but it’s not that at all. Merlin’s just not convinced of the sincerity of Arthur’s intentions towards him, and he intends to prove himself. 

Fortified, he strides over to the round table where Merlin, Will and their assorted friends are gathered. 

“I need to talk to you,” Arthur says, conscious of being on the receiving end of some curious looks from Merlin’s friends. Merlin presses back against the back of the booth as if trying to disappear into it. “Please.”

Merlin and Will have a hushed conversation. It’s too loud for Arthur to hear it all, but he catches odd phrases, _”…that for?… well fit… nutters…”_

Merlin won’t look at him. He’s not going to make this easy for him, Arthur realises. Perhaps he doesn’t trust Arthur enough to speak to him alone. Or, he realises, perhaps Merlin doesn’t trust himself. Arthur thinks back to what Merlin said to him in the Gedref Arms that time, about what he would do if Arthur were single. Well now he is, although the difficult part seems to be communicating that to Merlin.

Arthur decides he’s just going to have to use a mediator.

“Tell him,” he says to Will, “Tell him I bought something from his shop and I want to return it because I won’t be needing it anymore.”

Will looks at him like he might just be a nutcase after all. Arthur reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ring box. He slides it across the table in Merlin’s direction. Merlin looks up then, astonished.

Arthur turns and walks away, legs shaking, in need of some fresh air. 

 

Fresh is a relative term, he decides as he steps out into the small courtyard out the back to be greeted by a cloud of smoke. He coughs a little and leans his head against the wall. Booze has always been his preferred vice, something else he and Morgana had both inherited from Uther. 

It’s bloody freezing, and he’s wondering whether he should have just grabbed his jacket and headed straight home, when there’s a hand on his shoulder. He sighs internally, gearing himself to turn down another proposition from Mordred, and then he looks across to see exactly who it is leaning on the wall next to him.

“I hope you don’t expect your money back,” Merlin says. He’s got the ring box in his hand, thumb running over the corners.

“I… no. Obviously,” Arthur says, throat dry. 

Merlin’s lips curl up at the corners as if he can’t help himself smiling, and he nudges Arthur with a surprisingly pointy elbow. 

“She said no then?” Merlin asks.

“I ended it. On Wednesday,” Arthur tells him. Merlin swallows audibly, scuffing his shoes against the floor. He’s staring straight ahead, not looking at Arthur, but Arthur can’t take his eyes off him and he can see there’s a damp sheen to Merlin’s eyes.

“Okay,” Merlin says, nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath in. “Okay. So do you… look, if you need time, that’s cool, I wouldn’t want. I mean we don’t have to…”

“I don’t need time,” Arthur says, certain, daring to reach over and touch Merlin’s arm just at the point where his tattoo disappears under his sleeve. “I need you.”

“Oh thank fuck for that,” Merlin says with a huff of relieved laughter. Arthur barely has time to breathe before Merlin has him pinned against the wall. He hadn’t noticed before, but Merlin has the advantage of height over him. Merlin’s lips nudge against his, a feather light brush that makes desire flood through Arthur so fast he can taste it. He gasps into the kiss as Merlin deepens it, hands straying to grip Merlin’s waist, thumbs hooking into his belt loops.

There’s a wolf whistle from one of the smokers. Merlin breaks off to call over his shoulder, 

“Like you haven’t seen worse, Gilli.” But he leans his forehead against Arthur’s, breathing hard. “Maybe we should take this somewhere else. My place is free.”

Arthur feels as though his skin is suddenly too tight. He nods, not trusting himself to speak and lets Merlin drag him through the club by the hand, faces and lights a blur as they rush past.

 

Merlin’s flat is as tidy as his place of work, which is to say not very. The door shuts with a thud and Arthur feels an echo of it right through him.

“Drink?” Merlin asks, but he’s holding Arthur’s gaze and making no effort to make one. Arthur shakes his head. And then Merlin’s mouth is on his again and Merlin’s hands are on his belt, no time wasted. “I want to suck you, can I?” Merlin asks, grazing Arthur’s collarbone with his teeth. Arthur can barely manage an intelligible answer; Merlin’s proximity, his scent, the taste of his lips have all gone to his head, making it spin. But Merlin seems to take his strangled groan in the spirit in which it was intended and drops swiftly to his knees.

Merlin yanks his trousers and boxers down without ceremony, then sits back on his heels and just stares. Arthur feels himself harden even further, although a second before he would have sworn it was impossible. He never knew he could get so turned on just from being looked at, but Merlin’s eyes lingering on him are making him decidedly hot. Merlin’s mouth is just inches away and he has to curl his nails into his palms to stop himself from reaching for Merlin’s head and pulling him closer.

“Please,” he says, embarrassed at how quickly he has been reduced to begging. Merlin blinks and gives Arthur one of his maddening half smiles, before reaching for something in his pocket. Arthur feels a twinge of something which is half arousal and half jealousy as he registers the presence of the small foil packet. He can’t help but wonder who Merlin would have been using it with if he hadn’t shown up, even though he knows he has no right to be. 

Merlin reaches for him first, maddeningly slow, holding him as though he’s testing the weight of some fine piece of craftsmanship. 

“Fuck,” he says, “you’re…” He bites his lip, the sentence unfinished. Merlin rolls the condom onto Arthur’s cock and swallows him down. Arthur’s head rolls back so hard it smacks against the wall. He can’t keep his hands off any longer, reaching for Merlin, running his fingers through his hair, urging him on as he sucks him, thrusting messily into Merlin’s mouth as he grips his thighs. It takes no time at all for Arthur to finish, breathless and elated.

“Come here,” he manages to pant and Merlin’s there, pressed against him, fumbling with his own fly. Arthur bats his hands away, wanting to do this himself, craving his skin. “I want my hands on you,” he says and Merlin whimpers. 

He finds Merlin’s mouth again, drawing him into a deep, aching kiss. The tang of rum and latex is far hotter than it has any right to be, and his mouth waters slightly as he imagines himself on his knees returning the favour. 

“I thought about you,” Merlin says, breaking the kiss, mouth hot against Arthur’s neck, “So many times. I tried not to but –” His breath hitches as Arthur strokes him firmly. “I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help it, Arthur…”

“I dreamed of you,” Arthur confesses. “I dreamed about you holding me down and fucking me, and –”

“I want that,” Merlin gasps, “I want – Arthur, I…” Merlin muffles his moans in Arthur’s shoulder as he shudders and comes. 

 

*

They do reach the bed, eventually, and lie tangled in the sheets just drinking each other in, dazed and delighted. Arthur can’t get enough of Merlin’s skin. He’s discovered two more tattoos already, and claimed each one with kisses and drags of teeth against skin.

Arthur can’t help but wonder how different things would have been if he hadn’t gone into Merlin’s shop that day. And then he remembers that it was more than mere coincidence. Somebody had given him the address. The same somebody, in fact, who had subsequently invited Merlin to lunch without Arthur’s knowledge. 

“That witch!” Arthur exclaims, sitting up suddenly.

“What?” Merlin says, sleepy and befuddled. 

“My sister. She was the one who told me to go to your shop, you know.”

“Yes, you said.” Merlin wrinkles his nose. “You know, she always said she thought I should meet her brother. Wait, you think she set us up?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Does it matter?”

Arthur looks at Merlin, the sheet slung low over his waist, skin on display and hair sexily rumpled, blinking at him, sated and adoring. He feels a rush of emotion he doesn’t quite dare to name yet.

“No,” he says, lying back down next to him again. “No, it doesn’t matter.”


End file.
